


Gourmet is Kinda My Thing

by casophon



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, actual literal avocados, precious avocados
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casophon/pseuds/casophon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on the kinkmeme. </p>
<p>Matt's grocery delivery service is out of commission after the bombings, leaving his cupboards empty. Foggy is the bestest friend ever and takes him on a field trip to restock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gourmet is Kinda My Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=824789#cmt824789

At first he thought it had been quiet enough that Karen and Foggy couldn't hear it until, "Hey, buddy, you hungry or what?"  
  
Matt rubs the back of his head, embarrassed that the sound of his stomach had carried that far. "Sorry, I'm out of supplies at my place, didn't get around to picking something up for lunch."  
  
Didn't  _feel_  like picking something up was more like it; after everything that had happened - the bombings, Anatoly, and  _Fisk -_  his stomach had been flopping between nauseated and starving, and his head continues a staccato beat no matter how much aspirin he takes. The idea of going to a grocery store after everything that'd happened is almost too much to consider.  
  
"What do you mean, out of supplies?" Karen prompts.  
  
"I get a delivery every other week," Matt explains, and hears the little _a-ha_ intake of breath as Karen has one of her unspoken questions about blind people answered. "One was supposed to arrive yesterday, but with the bombings... it may be a few days."  
  
"So, what, you plan on living off of coffee and take-out until then?" Foggy clucks at him like a mother hen.  
  
"I still have tea," Matt replies, almost able to feel the disapproving glare emanating from Foggy's direction.  
  
"Oh no, that's not gonna fly. We're going on a field trip later. Ah-ah!" he interjects before Matt can protest, "I know grocery stores and you don't mix, but I'll help you out, okay?"  
  
Karen flares with the warmth of Foggy's friendship and turns to shuffle some papers. She seems uncomfortable at times, as if she's a third wheel, and he struggles with how to include her in moments like these. He shrugs. "If you insist."  
  
"'If you insist,'" Foggy repeats mockingly. "Yeah, I'm going to insist you don't starve, if that's okay by you."  
  
"He's got you there," Karen adds, and maybe he doesn't have to worry about her after all.  
  
This is how he finds himself standing in the doorway of whatever local grocery store Foggy goes to, assaulted by the myriad smells of the contents of the shelves and the incessant squeaking of poorly-maintained cart wheels.  _The human brain, no matter how chemically altered, can only process so much at any given time._  He's being overly dramatic, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that he goes out of his way to avoid places like this - crowded, too many sensations, making him feel exposed.  
  
Foggy nudges the back of his left hand and he obediently brings it up to the crook of Foggy's elbow. "No, grab the cart. It'll be easier."  
  
"I'm not holding on to the cart with you," Matt says incredulously, thinking of the way he'd trail alongside his father, small hands weaved into the side of the basket and getting pinched when it inevitably turned in a direction he wasn't expecting, pulling his fingers into odd angles.  
  
Foggy's voice snaps him back to reality. "It's too crowded in here for your cane. Don't be such a baby and hold on."  
  
Matt heaves a small sigh but does as he's told, moving his hand to the end of the cart's handle, the other bringing his cane up to his chest and out of the way. "I don't need much," he reminds Foggy. "Let's just get this over with."  
  
It's not just an excuse to get out of there quickly; Matt tries not to keep more food around than he needs, and his bi-weekly deliveries are carefully planned to give him just that. He finds excess food to be distasteful, partly due to a general dislike of waste, but also due to the unavoidable, irritating stench of food past its prime.  
  
They walk up and down the aisles as Foggy throws out suggestions - _Pop Tarts are two-for-one, assorted boxes of crackers are $1 off, ooh, vodka spaghetti sauce_ \- but obligingly only places what Matt requests in the cart - raw oats, free-range chicken, vegetarian-fed eggs, organic broccoli.  
  
"I can taste the difference," Matt insists when Foggy tries to tell him the grain-fed eggs are almost half the price.

"How about some of these, at least? Seriously, your diet is so boring I'm about to fall asleep here."

He isn't sure what Foggy's holding now, but by the familiar crinkle of the bag, he can hazard a guess. "Whatever that is, it had better not be those cheese things you're always eating."  
  
"What's wrong with the cheese things?" Foggy says guiltily, putting the bag back on the shelf. "Cheese things are good."  
  
"Sure, if you like chemicals," Matt sneers, and he swears he can actually hear Foggy roll his eyes.  
  
"I forgot what a snob you can be about food, jeez." There's no heat to the words and Matt grins, but bumps his shoulder into Foggy's all the same.  
  
"How about you throw in an avocado?" he asks, unable to resist as they pass through the produce section on the way to the registers.  
  
"You're never gonna let me live that down, will you?" Foggy groans. "I never claimed to be good at languages!"  
  
"And apparently that includes English," he taunts.  
  
Foggy offers to help him carry the bags home as they exit the store, but Matt waves him away. His left arm is rapidly cooling in the night breeze now that they're no longer walking so closely together; he tries not to focus on it. "I'll be fine. Go home and eat your chemical puffs." He's fairly sure that Foggy just flipped him off - and his hunch is confirmed once Foggy helpfully narrates his action - but he's also sure that he kind of deserves it. "And Foggy?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Anything for you, buddy."  
  
Outside on the sparsely populated streets he could hear Foggy's heartbeat clearly again, the steady _thump-thump-thump_ an assurance that Foggy means what he said, as he always does. 


End file.
